


the sea made flesh

by novadeity



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Body Worship, Canon Disabled Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Awakening, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, cries because flint loves silver and hamilton so much, just because a man is a god doesn't mean he's a top, really flint was more of his bi awakening but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novadeity/pseuds/novadeity
Summary: It was as if the gods themselves had seen fit to place all the fury and hunger of a hurricane into physical form, sealing the edges with fire kissed hair and binding it with leather.





	the sea made flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired entirely by this [image](http://dailyblacksails.tumblr.com/image/132353542772). A fic playlist, you ask? [No problem](https://open.spotify.com/user/22eobdf4wb2x57vqu4wzumvqa/playlist/0fUM9GZC8Jh5iiA9CUQSSk?si=MCZs9xWtTj2-tb6MngaEXA#_=_).

“Vanguard, prepare to board.” Flint said loudly as movement erupted across the _Walrus_. The captain descended from the quarterdeck to the main deck, handing Mr. DeGroot his spyglass as he went. Silver was on the gun deck himself, Dooley beside him working to load a pistol. 

“You heard the captain, to the rails!” Silver yelled, using the ropes above him as leverage to walk to the forecastle. Men around him repeated their quartermaster’s orders and Silver felt a small tug at his heart. _Following_ his _orders_. He came to rest beneath the foremast, the pain in his stump a steady but tolerable thrum.

The loud yells of the men as canons were drawn back, gun ports closed and the vanguard prepared to board echoed all around them. Silver observed the ship with a tense curiosity, his eyes combing each deck and watching the crew at work. He watched as Billy and Joji huddled under the starboard railing, each checking their weapons and painting their faces with ash along with the rest of the vanguard.

The sun was setting to the west, casting a rather wicked glow on the water. It was then that Silver saw Flint solitary by the starboard rail, looking to the merchant ship with an insatiable hunger, a desire that could never be satisfied. The stern slant of his body implied an unending patience, in no particular hurry to reach their prey.

Once Silver looked, he found it difficult to look away.

The way the blood red horizon framed Flint’s broad shoulders almost demanded reverence. His profile was dark and outlined in deep gold, his features washed with a heavenly light. He looked powerful, demanding, and altogether unbothered by the events occurring around him. Flint stood while the rest of the vanguard hunkered beneath the rail, looking to their captain in fear and awe.

Silver had seen that look directed at Flint many times before. Within the first few days of joining his crew, he had watched Flint kill Singleton with his bare hands. He had been covered in blood, filled with unparalleled rage, and Silver thought then as he did now: _This man cannot be real_.

Flint’s very being changed everything. As Flint had proved time and time again, he could not die. He walked proudly towards death and laughed in its face, caring not for the repercussions of his actions, only the implications. Flint was mad with power, but power he wielded well. He made Silver question everything he thought he knew about himself, his sanity and his sexuality chiefest among them. If a man such as Flint existed, then that made everything Silver once thought to be fiction a reality.

It was as if the gods themselves had seen fit to place all the fury and hunger of a hurricane into physical form, sealing the edges with fire kissed hair and binding it with leather. Everything about Flint’s quiet anger, from the way he seethed when things didn’t go as planned to the way his voice boomed when he demanded obedience reminded Silver of the churning waters of a storm.

What was it like to be a man like that? What was it like to _love_ a man like that?

Did his love boil over like the crashing of swells on a shore? Did it burn like salt spray, a harsh reminder that the sea stings? Was it cold and distant, like the seas they so often hunted on?

Silver had never been attracted to men before. In Bristol, before this whole business, he’d slept with women, but never had a connection with them. He’d never had a connection with anyone like he had with Flint. He suspected Flint hadn’t either. That thought scared him the most.

“Vanguard, cross!” Flint yelled, and the vanguard began to cross, planks thrown and clawed ropes hewn. The _Walrus_ was broadsides on their starboard to the merchant vessel’s port. Silver watched as the captain himself jumped across the closing gap, his leather coat lifting in the air and exposing his stark white shirt. It would not remain white for long.

Soon clashes and clangs of sabres filled the air between the two ships. Silver watched from the forecastle the carnage the _Walrus_ men were creating with steady eyes. DeGroot came to stand beside him sporting a sour expression.

“Why are you so fucking grim?” Silver inquired over the din.

DeGroot shot him a dark look. “A tempest’s on the horizon, Mr. Silver. Best claim this prize and be on our way.” As he stated this, his hand swept behind them toward the aft, and sure enough Silver saw dark grey clouds gathering in the far distance, looking more sinister in the harsh light of the evening.

“Tell everyone to seek shelter below deck,” Silver said, and Mr. DeGroot gave a long pause. “Now, Mr. DeGroot!” DeGroot tore off to carry out his orders. Silver turned his attention back to the battle taking place on his starboard side.

Flint was on the ship’s main deck beneath the main mast, Silver’s view of him partially obscured by the shrouds. He wouldn’t have been able to pick him out at all if it weren’t for the fiery tint of his hair in the light. The poor bastard he was dueling seemed to be putting up quite a fight, though Flint obviously had the upper hand. He would dodge one blow and parry another only to get a small slash in before having to block or dodge again. It was as if Flint was toying with him, playing at swordplay and growing more bored by the second.

It was fucking captivating.

Silver stood, entranced by this unholy yet somehow divine man channeling his hatred into the world through such a disciplined display. Each step Flint took was measured, calculated. So much so that his ponytail was close to coming loose, but the men fighting around them did not notice. It was only Silver who noticed. Silver, who noticed the small twist in the captain’s wrist that caused his opponent’s sword to go flying, Silver, who noticed the man’s dying gasps as Flint watched over him with a blank expression. Silver, who saw Flint wipe the man’s life blood on his trousers and continue strutting down the deck like he couldn’t be damned he’d just ended a life.

_How are you real? How are you real?_

The battle was soon won after that, with Joji bringing the merchant captain to heel. Silver made the dangerous trek across the gangplank to stand in front of the surviving members and gave the usual speech about joining or dying.

“We’re here for your cargo,” Silver said, “Plain and simple. Join us or not, I couldn’t care less. I’ll have fewer requisitions to fill if you don’t.” At that, some of the crew around him laughed.

Flint, whose shirt was now considerably less white, stood watching from the quarter deck. His sabre was sheathed, but his hair was still falling out of its ties. It obscured a fraction of his face. He was watching Silver through its red shroud.

Silver met his gaze with a fevered indifference. The man was covered in blood. Literally, covered in blood. His shirt was stained red, his leather coat torn at one arm, yet Flint still looked casual and composed. He jerked his head almost imperceptibly and Silver obeyed.

Silver took his time making his way up to the quarterdeck. By the time he’d reached it, Flint was peering over the railing to the north, where the tempest was slowly inching closer.

“You did well today.” Flint stated, voice flat, still peering out to sea. Silver stole a glance at him. _Fuck_.

“We all had our parts to play.”

“DeGroot tells me you cleared the gun deck in preparation for the storm. In the midst of battle.” Flint still hadn’t looked at Silver.

“Yes. I don’t feel I need to explain my actions with a tempest on the horizon.”

Flint began to fidget with the rings on his fingers, still not looking. Refusing to look. “I’ve never known you to be superstitious.”

A dark laugh escaped Silver. “When you’re involved? I’d believe the ocean was the sky if you told me.”

Flint’s lips quirked in a faint smile. In the distance, thunder boomed. “And what if I told you all the rum onboard was really salt water?”

“It would explain a lot of Dooley’s nighttime escapades if he were drinking seawater instead of rum,” Silver countered, the familiar thump of his boot coming to rest as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Flint.

“We should be underway soon,” Flint said, finally turning to look at Silver.

Silver stopped breathing.

Flint still carried the ghost of a smile on his face. In the still setting sun, Silver noticed flecks of gold in the rum-bottle green of his eyes. He could see a small cut above his left eyebrow, still bleeding shallowly, made all the more vibrant by the crimson of the evening, along with the rich color of his hair.

“I know.”

Silver reached his hands out before he knew what he was doing. His hands shook as they brushed past Flint’s cheeks to push his hair out of his eyes. His hair was softer than he’d expected. It felt… nice. Flint froze immediately, his expression becoming guarded as Silver pulled his hair back and refastened it behind his head. Once it was secured with a tie, Silver turned back to stare at the sea.

For a moment, they stood together at the railing, the bloody glow of the dying sun making both their shadows appear across the quarterdeck as large as kings. Then Flint walked away.

* * *

Silver woke that night in the crew’s quarters.

The men around him were all asleep. He could hear heavy breathing to his left and snoring to his right. His hammock swung precariously while he stared at the beam above him. It had to be late in the evening, meaning the skeleton crew was manning the ship while Flint slept.

Flint.

Memories of the day before came flooding back in nauseous waves. Try as he might, Silver couldn’t block them out. He couldn’t forget the way Flint’s torso looked gilded by the sunset. The way his eyes reflected the horizon. He couldn’t block out the memories of how unbelievably soft Flint’s hair had been, the carefully blank look on his face as he’d brushed his cheeks.

He needed air.

Silver got up as quietly as he could manage with only one leg. He had taken his boot off before falling asleep at Howell’s insistence, so instead of struggling to put it back on in the dark, he reached for his crutch. He began to make his way to the upper deck and winced with every thud of the crutch, the wooden sound still foreign to him.

He made it above without waking any of the sleeping crew. He looked up to the crow’s nest and saw a man on watch. He waved down at Silver from the main mast and Silver returned it in kind. He would never get used to so many vying to be in his good favor, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

He walked to the portside railing and stared out to sea. The tempest was still following, but it was further behind them then it had been earlier. They might even make it back to Nassau before it struck, which he assumed was Flint’s course of action.

Even in the fresh air, he couldn’t escape the fog of Flint. It plagued him wherever he went. When had he started seeing him differently? When had he started seeing him as a being higher than any other? At first, he hadn’t been afraid to stoke the man’s ire, maybe he even basked in the destruction it caused. But after the Urca, the men voting him quartermaster, everything had begun to blur. It was harder to pretend he didn’t care. It was harder to pretend he wasn’t attracted to the danger Flint offered.

Perhaps that’s all it was. The opportunities Flint offered him could not be found elsewhere. No other pirate in the New World was as feared as he was, as respected as he was. No other pirate had killed as many men, survived as many perils, earned as much gold. The gods obviously favored Flint, so it was right to ally with him. Their relationship was built on the successes and failures of the _Walrus_ and her crew, and that’s all it was.

That, and when he met Flint’s gaze, it felt like the crashing of a thousand waves. Like something was going to be slammed into a rocky shore and dashed apart, like he was dooming himself to a watery grave, but he _enjoyed it_. He had never been interested in men, but Flint was no man.

He was the sea made flesh.

He began walking towards the captain’s quarters before he could stop himself. His thoughts, his attraction, his worship of the man he served, it needed to be dealt with. Silver leaned on his crutch as he raised his hand to knock on Flint’s door.

He heard movement, and a moment later Flint’s face appeared. He didn’t look tired, so Silver hadn’t woken him. He seemed surprised to see Silver, but backed away and opened his door in invitation, gesturing to his desk and the chair in front of it.

“You’re up late.”

Silver heard the door close as he took the offered seat. He watched as Flint came around and sat opposite him, rummaging in his desk drawers before pulling out a bottle of rum and two glasses. He raised an eyebrow at Silver, and Silver nodded. He watched as Flint poured a generous amount into a glass and slid it across the desk to him.

Silver caught the glass and downed his in one gulp. He looked up to see Flint in his chair holding his glass, watching him with a guarded expression. He looked relaxed, but unsettled. The cut above his eyebrow still hadn’t been tended to.

Silver began to speak. “Flint, I-”

“James. My name is James.”

Silver was thankful for the beard he was starting to grow as he felt his face heat up. “You’re killing me.”

Flint met his gaze and lifted an eyebrow. He slowly pulled his glass to his mouth and took a long sip, making his throat appear more prominent. Silver glanced and saw hundreds of freckles in the dim candlelight. How many more freckles did he have? He continued to watch as Flint licked his lips after drinking. Silver gulped.

“James.”

“John?”

Silver felt his willpower break as he whispered, “Please.”

Flint’s grin turned predatory. “You can do better than that, Mr. Quartermaster.”

Silver’s blood was rushing. “I want you so badly it’s breaking my soul. I feel like I’m blaspheming a god every time I look at you crossways, and I’m helpless to do anything but pray. For once in my fucking life I’m trying to be religious, and you think that isn’t good enough?” He ended his little speech with a small grin, his poor attempt at being coy.

Flint’s chair toppled back and he surged forward. He vaulted his own desk, toppling the bottle of rum, his hands coming to rest instantly in John’s hair. He hesitated for a split second before pulling Silver into a deep kiss.

All of Silver’s suspicions had been false. James Flint did not love wildly, like a raging storm. He loved passionately, intimately, with all his being. His tongue pressed Silver’s lips for entrance. Once given, Silver was drowning. His hands came to rest on Flint’s chest as Flint himself climbed onto Silver’s lap, seemingly as desperate for this as he was.

Silver could have kissed him until they reached Nassau. Flint seemed to have other plans. He dragged his mouth to Silver’s neck, leaving soft bites and marks then laving over the bruises with his tongue. Silver felt himself releasing small moans every time Flint would suck a new mark, earning an appreciative grunt from his partner in return. Flint’s hands moved to pull his own shirt off before Silver stopped him.

“I want to.”

Flint’s eyes were blown wide with desire as Silver helped him out of his shirt and threw it across the room. He was covered in old scars and thousands of freckles, bursts of fire every one. Silver’s hands went to his chest, his nipples, and stroked. He wanted to touch everything. He wanted everything Flint would give him.

Before long, Flint was making small grunts, his hands back in Silver’s hair. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this,” he sighed, tugging experimentally at Silver’s curls.

“Tell me anyway, James,” Silver said, breathing into Flint’s chest. He could feel Flint’s erection pressing into his thigh as he reached down and began to palm his ass. Flint was slowly rocking into him, creating friction where there was frustratingly little.

“Call me James again.”

Silver smiled and pressed a kiss to Flint’s freckled skin as he began to rock back, pulling Flint closer to him as he went. “James. Please, I want you to tell me.”

Upon hearing Silver say his name, Flint let out a struggled groan and pulled Silver’s hair sharply, earning a grunt in return. “Since the Urca - fuck.”

Silver’s heart couldn’t beat any faster than it already was. Against his own will he began rocking against Flint faster, needing him closer, his own erection becoming frustratingly tight in his trousers. “You’ve been wanting this - god - since I dragged you from the sea? Why?”

Flint was letting out shallow breaths now, his cock hitting Silver’s ever so slightly with every thrust. It was more than enough. It was perfect. It was like the tide breaking on shore only to start anew. Silver started to mouth at Flint’s chest, tasting salt and sweat. He even smelled like the sea. Of course he smelled like the sea.

Flint was trying to stifle his groans. “You said you hated the sea.”

“And here I am adoring it,” Silver murmured.

Flint tucked his head into Silver’s hair, whispering John’s name in adoration as his orgasm washed over him. Silver followed soon after, stroking Flint’s back and cooing sweet nothings into his neck. He held onto him and heard Flint whisper into his hair, barely more than a sigh, but a string of words nonetheless.

Silver was glowing. “I didn’t catch that, James.”

“I said ‘know no shame’, John Silver. Know no shame.”

**Author's Note:**

> Literally everyone in my college dorm beta'd this, lmao. Find me on [this hellsite](http://percyofwhitestone.tumblr.com/).


End file.
